


Chicken Soup for the Dark Knight Soul

by MiraMira



Category: Batman Beyond
Genre: F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Gen, Illnesses, Post-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/pseuds/MiraMira
Summary: Dana doesn't expect checking in on Mr. Wayne while he's ill to improve her tenuous relationship with the old man.  But then, Bruce has always been contrary.





	Chicken Soup for the Dark Knight Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlowMercury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlowMercury/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, SlowMercury! I took a couple of your ideas, and came up with this. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Note: contains extremely vague references to/possible spoilers for the Justice League Unlimited episode "Epilogue".

“Well, here we are,” says Max, pausing as they reach the gates of Wayne Manor. “You want to handle the biometric scan, or should I?”

“I’m not sure I have access,” Dana admits, awkwardly shifting the soup container she holds from one arm to the other.

Max looks down at the engagement ring that Dana feels a sudden compulsion to hide, then back up at her, not even attempting to hide her disbelief. “Still?”

“Mr. Wayne and I have never really gotten along. You know that.” Granted, the reasons behind the rift have fluctuated over the years, at least on Dana’s end: from resentment at having to share so much of her boyfriend’s time, to anger upon learning his actual job duties, to the...honestly, she still doesn’t know how to categorize her feelings about the true nature of Mr. Wayne’s relationship to Terry beyond “weird.” And underlying it all, the fear that one day, she will lose the man she loves: not to the criminals he fights, but to the cold and lonely destiny this mansion and its sole inhabitant represent.

“The old man doesn’t get along with _anyone_ ,” Max points out, effectively puncturing Dana’s gloom-laden thoughts with an eye roll. “You can’t let that stop you.”

Nonetheless, to Dana’s relief, she handles the security measures without further comment, then leads the way into the residence itself. Ace comes bounding up to them the instant the door shuts.

“Hey, boy!” says Max. “Your master upstairs resting?”

Ace barks in seeming affirmation, and takes off at a brisk clip. They follow him, only to find themselves being led into the kitchen.

“So much for loyalty,” Dana murmurs.

Max shrugs. “At least it’ll give us a chance to heat up the soup.” She rummages through drawers until she finds a pot, which she hands to Dana. “Here. I’ll go refill his food bowl. Maybe then we’ll get some use out of him.”

The scent of chicken, garlic, and ginger is just beginning to waft through the room when they hear a loud crash from upstairs. Dana barely has a chance to put the soup on simmer before she races after Max and Ace, who pause just outside the master bedroom. Signaling caution, Max readies herself in a fighting stance before throwing the door open.

Mr. Wayne lies tangled up in his blankets on the floor. There are no signs of struggle or intruders, which likely accounts for the death glare he is leveling at them. Although mostly, Dana cannot help feeling, at her: the one who hasn’t earned the right to see him vulnerable. “You should’ve announced yourselves,” he growls.

“ _You_ should’ve stayed in bed,” Max retorts, as Dana goes digging through her bag for the other supplies they’ve brought. “No wonder Terry was so insistent we look in on you.”

“I don’t need babysitters,” Mr. Wayne snaps.

“Then get up off the floor, and let us treat you to the lovely dinner Dana brought,” says Max. “Just as soon as we check your vitals.”

Taking this as her cue, Dana starts to help him to his feet, only to find her opposite wrist caught in a vise-like grip as he forces open the other palm to get a better look at what’s inside. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demands.

“Basic diagnostic patch,” says Dana, hoping the calm command in her voice will drown out her pounding heart. “The better question is, if you’re perfectly fine, how did you let me get this close?”

Mr. Wayne glowers at her in silence for a moment. Then, without a change in expression, he lies back down on the bed and holds out his arm.

Max lets out a low whistle. “Terry really does need to bring you along more often.”

A loud beep cuts through the lingering tension in the room. Dana looks down at the medical app on her phone, wondering what sort of dire symptom it could’ve spotted before she’s even had a chance to activate it, but Max is already silencing the alarm on her watch. “Almost time for Terry’s patrols to start. I’d better get down to the cave in case he needs backup.”

“You’re not going with her?” asks Mr. Wayne, as they watch her leave.

Dana shakes her head. “She’s the one who knows the controls. I’d just be in the way. Especially if he does run into trouble. I’ve learned to handle patching him up, but...watching it as it happens?” Fortunately, she’s finished affixing the patch before she shudders involuntarily, remembering the last time he came staggering home from a run-in with a splicer gang. The scratches healed without scarring, thankfully, but that particular iteration of the Batsuit had to be unceremoniously retired after multiple failed attempts at repair. “No thanks.”

She’s said too much, she realizes, as she catches sight of Mr. Wayne staring at her, and fights not to display further weakness by flinching. Now she’s in for one of the infamous lectures Terry’s warned her about, or even echoed in his broodier moments: being the Bat is an all-consuming calling, and anyone not prepared to accept that reality had better get out before it consumes them, too. 

But Mr. Wayne’s expression is distant, and almost soft. “I must’ve been--oh, five years old when I asked my father if it was hard being a doctor. He told me he could handle any medical emergency, so long as it didn’t involve me or Mother.” For the first time, as the full weight of that intense gaze falls upon her, she doesn’t feel judged or inadequate. “He’d have liked you, I think.”

Her breath catches. Bruce Wayne the public figure has spoken at length about his parents over the years, at countless memorials and naming ceremonies and charity functions, exhorting his listeners to honor their legacy of brave, selfless generosity. The man who lives behind that Bruce Wayne’s mask, Terry has told her, can barely glance at the many reminders of Thomas and Martha Wayne that still haunt the halls of the manor, let alone offer up a positive memory. That he would find one for her, or at least make the effort... “That means a lot, Mr. Wayne. Thanks.”

He waves her off with a grunt. “Call me Bruce. Or whatever you like. We’re almost family now, aren’t we?”

Dana grins. “‘Old man’ it is.”

Bruce’s laugh turns into a cough, at the exact moment the app chimes its “analysis complete” notification. Dana studies the results. “Well, apart from the .002% chance of drug-resistant hantavirus, I’d say this is just a run-of-the-mill cold.” She holds up a hand to forestall the objection she can already see coming. “Let me take a sample, and I’ll run it down to the cave to confirm. In the meantime, your soup should be ready. Stay here while I bring you a bowl.”

“No promises,” says Bruce, in the same gruff tone from earlier, but Dana thinks she might just be beginning to hear the humor underneath it.

“Then don’t expect me to let it go to waste,” she fires back. Besides, she’s pretty sure she spotted where he keeps the dog treats during Max’s search, in case she needs to turn Ace into a more reliable tracker. And if there’s one thing she’s picked up from Terry that she already knows Bruce will approve, it’s the importance of having a contingency plan.


End file.
